


Temporarily Out Of Order

by georgiamagnolia



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: After Mission, M/M, Mission Fic, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-12
Updated: 2011-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 13:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiamagnolia/pseuds/georgiamagnolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Training new recruits makes for interesting working conditions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temporarily Out Of Order

“How’s the chowder today?”

“Hot and plentiful,” Illya replied before taking another big bite, turning the book he was reading over on the tabletop. He swallowed the mouthful of soup and looked up as Napoleon took a chair across the small table to sit in.

“That’s not the most ringing endorsement.”

“Chef is on vacation.”

“Well, that explains everything.” Napoleon looked at his own uninspired roast beef sandwich, adding some ketchup. He took a bite and realized that even the ketchup wasn’t going to help. He pushed the plate away.

“Perhaps we can ask Mr. Waverly not to let Chef vacation when we are in the middle of orientation?”

“I think he does it on purpose,” Napoleon said. “He doesn’t want the new recruits to get the idea that there is anything whatsoever to enjoy about the job.”

Illya pushed aside his empty bowl, making room for the abandoned sandwich. He pulled the top layer of bread off, frowning with distaste at the ketchup. Illya carefully sat aside that piece of bread, used his fork to pull off the piece of thin roast beef that was tainted with the tomato paste layer of condiment and added it to the discarded bread. Next he took some of the blue cheese dressing he hadn’t used on his salad and spread it between the roast beef layers, adding just a hint of salt and pepper, some lettuce and tomato from his own uneaten sandwich and then folded it over to make it easier to hold and slid it back to Napoleon.

Illya picked up his own sandwich and watched Napoleon. His partner picked up the remade lunch and took an experimental bite. Illya allowed the smallest smile to mirror the larger one Napoleon gave him.

“Thanks, that was much better,” Napoleon leaned forward on the table when he had finished his lunch, “I have another six reviews to do this afternoon, what’s on your schedule?”

“I suspect that Mr. Waverly has yet another courier mission for me, while you are here dotting and crossing things on the paperwork, he just keeps finding new ways to demonstrate the fun of field work to the newly graduated survivors of the Island. And I get to be the one to break them all in, what trust he must have in me.”

“He does, you know.”

“I do. But I won’t lie and say it isn’t tiring.” At Napoleon’s raised brow, Illya continued, “It’s tiring to watch out for the new hire while I am also watching my own back. I don’t trust them as I do my partner, you know.”

“Careful, you might make someone think your partner is necessary and indispensable with talk like that.” Napoleon leaned back and grinned.

“Nobody would ever mistake my partner for anything but a dandy and a womanizer, sly and smug.” Illya’s voice was soft and got softer as he leaned forward, “I wouldn’t have it any other way you know, THRUSH is entirely taken in by the act and I can’t count the number of times underestimation of him has made my job easier.”

“And the bad guys don’t underestimate your temporary partners?” Napoleon sounded genuinely interested, even as Illya’s comment made him grin wider.

“They do, but they don’t have the experience to back it up, you see, and then I have to take up that slack. I have no particular desire to do his job and mine as well, you understand. At least these new ones do their own paperwork.”

“You do say the sweetest things, partner. Good luck on your next trip out.”

***

“Room Service!” a too gleeful voice sang out as the door swung open and another crashing explosion sounded somewhere in the building. “And that would be our cue to exit as fast as possible, come on, up you get.” Napoleon pulled the blond to his feet as gently as he could, trying not to jar the makeshift splint on one arm and mindful of the haphazardly wrapped ribs.

“Careful, I think they cracked his jaw as well.”

Napoleon looked over at the man entering the still smoking remains of the door to the cell. “What about you?”

“Hardly a scratch.”

Napoleon looked at the bruises blooming purple and yellow and red across ribs and back and let his doubt show. The three men left the building at as much of a run as they could manage, considering one of them was unconscious.

“What are you doing here?”

They had finally made the dubious safety of the car Napoleon had arrived in and Napoleon was driving as fast as the darkness and winding road would allow. He met his partner’s eyes in the rear view mirror briefly and then looked back at the twisting dirt road. “Your recruit there was testing out some new tracking equipment for the lab and he left the expected path. The good news is that we knew generally where you went, the bad news is that the tracker was short term so we had to finish the search the old fashioned way. I’d have been here earlier if we had better battery power for those things.”

Hours later Illya was released from Medical and he and Napoleon were at the bedside of the recruit.

“They thought he was me. They kept at him, expecting him to spill something scientific I guess, but he didn’t have the information they wanted. I tried to convince them they were wrong, didn’t work.”

“Good thing I found your cell first, I might have thought he was you just as they did. The resemblance is striking.”

“Our scar patterns will differ.”

“Not to mention that his field of expertise is in geopolitical history and he only speaks two dead languages.”

Illya was about to answer when the young man in the bed stirred and his dark eyes opened. He mumbled something that might have been their names, but Napoleon reached out and laid a gentle hand on his forearm.

“Mr. Daniels, please, don’t try to talk yet,” Napoleon said. “Your jaw isn’t broken but it should have been. The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you. We just didn’t like the idea of you waking alone. It’s disconcerting the first few times.”

He mumbled again and Illya leaned close, then back again. “No, Mr. Daniels. Mr. Cheval did not come back with us, in fact, he never made it to the THRUSH base where we were held. The traitor is no longer among the living. And that is part of the problem that THRUSH had with the identification, he was the only one who knew for sure which of us was which and they wouldn’t take our word for it, unfortunately for you.” There was more mumbling from the man in the bed. Illya tried not to laugh out loud, “No, Mr. Daniels, the paperwork is already done. You can take care of yours when you are released by the doctors. No more thinking about it, just take the painkillers they give you and get some rest.”

This time it was Napoleon who tried not to laugh at the mumbled words, replying, “I will be sure he takes his own painkillers, Mr. Daniels, and rests as well. We’ll check in with you tomorrow.”

At the desk Illya was handed a bottle of pills and a mess of paperwork and aftercare instructions. “Don’t they realize we have these things memorized by now?” Illya grumbled at Napoleon as they waited at the elevator.

“Yes, and they know we will ignore them,” Napoleon said with a grin and plucked the bottle of medication from his partner who he could see eyeing the trash can down the hall. The elevator arrived and the doors opened, they stepped inside and were alone.

***

“Better now?”

“Yes, a shower and actual clothing instead of shredded THRUSH castoffs has improved my outlook considerably.” Illya inhaled deeply, “What is this?”

“Dinner. Those painkillers will need some food in you first, and don’t even argue, you will take the painkillers. At least tonight.” Napoleon gave Illya his best CEA look and pointed to the table where a glass of water and a small white pill waited by one place setting. “I hope you are in the mood for Shepherd’s Pie, there is more than I can take care of, so dig in.”

Illya didn’t even try to argue and that worried Napoleon more than anything else.

***

“Good morning. I’m sorry I fell asleep last night.”

“I’m not, you needed some rest.”

“You’re not?”

“Well, my better nature was in control last night.”

“And now?”

“If you keep doing, ah, that, yes, that there, my better nah…” there was a long pause while Napoleon arched into Illya’s touch, “ah, my better nature might be sleeping in today.”

“I’d argue that.”

“You’d argue anything.”

“And have.”

“Ah, yes, you have, uh, Illya, what…”

Napoleon was stopped from talking by a soft kiss, a kiss that was everything his partner’s demanding hands and insistent movements were not. While Illya’s hands were promising hard and fast and primally satisfying that Napoleon knew his body would follow through with, this kiss was something else altogether. Illya’s lips were coaxing and teasing, tasting slowly and inviting. Illya left Napoleon gasping with every movement and stroke, but broke him with the softest kiss, and put him back together again the same way, one lick and nibble and caress at a time, until Napoleon could think of nothing else but the sweetness of that mouth on his. Pushing out the grim memory of the worry and pain and uncertainty of the past days, replacing that nightmare with the reality of his presence, Illya invited Napoleon into the fire that remade them both, together.


End file.
